


Backseat Doctor

by keysmash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: help_haiti, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-18
Updated: 2010-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-07 08:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysmash/pseuds/keysmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's hurt, and for reasons unknown, Dean's fussier than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backseat Doctor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EosRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EosRose/gifts).



> Written for help_haiti. Beta by bansidhe.

"Here," Dean said, and dumped Sam as gently as he could on the bed. He pressed Sam's own hand over the folded-up shirt over the gash in his upper right arm. It wouldn't be anything serious except for how deep it was, and Sam clenched his jaw as he took over the job of applying pressure.

"I'm just gonna, gotta get the stuff," Dean said. He backed into the bathroom, stumbling a little as he kept his eyes on Sam. Sam tried to steady his breathing as he listened to Dean rummaging around. He closed his eyes for a moment and didn't open them until Dean came back. He dropped the usual stuff on the bed — pen, needle, lighter, thread, bottle of pain meds with some musician's name on the label — and then went back to the bathroom. Sam tried to toe out of his boots, without much luck, while Dean washed his hands, taking his sweet time about it. When he finally came back, Sam held up one foot.

"Can you get these?" he said. Dean frowned down at his hands before putting a bottle of rubbing alcohol down with the other stuff, then knelt down at Sam's feet. He didn't look up at Sam while he untied Sam's boots and tugged them one at a time, cupping his heels and pulling. Sam reached out with his free hand, his hurt arm, and touched Dean's hair. Dean leaned into the touch for a moment before straightening up again. He tossed Sam's boots towards the door and then disappeared into the bathroom again. Sam rolled his eyes when he heard the faucet again; it wasn't like Dean usually sewed him up with muddy hands or anything, but this was getting weird.

He brought the complimentary plastic cup, full of water, and a few towels with him when he came back.

"Okay, lemme see," he said, and Sam pulled the shirt away carefully. His own shirt was torn and bloody, and the cut beneath started bleeding again as soon as Sam stopped putting pressure on it. Neither of them had expected a Momo to have sharp claws, which in retrospect was a pretty stupid guess. Dean hissed through his teeth and shook his head. "Can you get out of the shirt?"

"Think so," Sam said. Even with Dean helping to tug the fabric along as smoothly as possible, working his arm out of the sleeve sucked, since they couldn't keep the shirt from brushing up against Sam's skin as they slid it away. It was damp and bloodstained in several places by the time it came off. Even if they got the blood out, Sam would need to re-hem it into a short-sleeved shirt if it was going to be wearable in public again.

The sharp scent of rubbing alcohol filled the room as Dean opened the bottle, poured some into one palm, and rubbed his hands together. Sam frowned at him, but Dean nudged him to sit forward, leaning over the carpet, as he poured the alcohol over Sam's arm, next. He closed his eyes and tried to breath through the burning as the alcohol washed into the cut and then down his arm, but he'd lost track of Dean, and it came as a surprise when Dean poured water from the cup over his arm next. Sam hissed again when Dean wiped him clean with the towel, probably just getting ratty fibers into the wound, and then he opened his eyes when Dean started marking him up with the pen.

Sam knew the routine here, from having been on each end of the needle more times than he liked, but he still watched, every time. He could never ignore it.

"Here," Dean said, and sat next to Sam, on his injured side. He handed Sam the lighter and Sam flicked it clumsily with his left hand so Dean could hold the point of the needle into the flame. He swallowed hard when Dean pulled it back, and they both watched the tip fade from red back into silver. Dean tugged Sam's arm into his lap and glanced up at him after threading the needle. "You ready?"

Sam clenched his jaw and grabbed a huge fold of the bedspread with his free hand. "Do it," he said. Dean took a deep breath, put the needle to the first dot on Sam's arm, and then pushed it through.

.

He made Sam drink a bottle of water before he'd give him either the pills or the flask, and Sam knew it was the right thing to do, but that didn't mean he liked it very much. The t-shirt he'd worn under his button-down was sweat-crusty and splattered with blood in places, but Sam left it on even after he struggled out of his pants. He'd take the shirt off later, once the drugs kicked in, or if nothing else, he'd sleep in it. He yawned, starting to crash now that he was all sewn up, and moved to the spare bed to crawl under the clean, dry covers.

He could hear Dean in the bathroom, still running the faucet, and closed his eyes as he listened to the steady noise. It sounded like Dean was washing everything by hand and possibly giving himself a sponge bath, too, but then the shower kicked on. Sam snorted and rolled onto his left arm. He drifted a little, not far enough under the drug's hold yet to really sleep, until Dean cut off the water.

The light from the bathroom filled the room as Dean opened the door and Sam squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Dean left the light on as he crossed to the bed and wiped something cool and wet over Sam's stitches. He groaned, and again when Dean dried off his arm, but he stayed quiet as Dean smoothed something else over the wound. He opened his eyes when Dean got off the bed and frowned when he saw an actual bandage there, gleaning cleanly in contrast with his messy shirt.

"You need to get that off," Dean said, like he knew what Sam had been thinking. He came over and manhandled Sam out of the shirt, then finally turned off the light and climbed into bed himself, getting under the sheets and curling up behind Sam. He pressed his face into the back of Sam's neck, almost nuzzling him, and Sam leaned back into him.

"We should have gotten you a shower, too," Dean said. It sounded more like an afterthought than a complaint, so Sam shrugged. It tugged a little against his stitches, but he tried not to react. Dean slid his hand under Sam's, resting over his breastbone, like he hadn't noticed.

"In the morning," Sam said. The hot water would feel awesome, but right now, he didn't want to get out of bed. He relaxed further against Dean, moving slowly this time so nothing would take him by surprise, and snorted when Dean snugged their hips close together. "That can wait for morning, too."

"Whatever," Dean said. He tightened his arm around Sam and rubbed his nose against the back of Sam's neck. Sam huffed and shifted his head on the pillow, but he was asleep before he could do anything about it.

.

He woke up with Dean prodding him, turning his arm and wiping it down with something wet and cool. It didn't sting or smell medicinal, and Sam guessed it was just water. He waited for Dean to finish, so he could go back to sleep, but after Dean let go of his arm, he laid one palm over Sam's forehead, pressing slightly the way he'd taught Sam to do when checking Dad for fever. Sam opened his eyes and glared up at his brother.

Dean wasn't phased, though. He just shrugged down at Sam, left his hand in place a moment longer, and then finally pulled it away. It was still dark outside, but he'd turned the bathroom light on, and Sam closed his eyes again as Dean climbed off the bed, flicked it off, and then came back.

"I can freaking tell you myself if I've got a fever," he said.

Dean got under the covers, letting in a draft of cooler air with him before he pulled the covers tight around their shoulders again. "Not if you're asleep, you can't."

"Okay, but if it's so low you have to hold your hand on me for that long to tell, then it's not that bad."

"But it could get bad." He wrapped his arm around Sam's waist again. The drugs were starting to wear thin, and Sam knew he should tell Dean he needed more before the pain got bad again, but it was so much easier to just sink back into the pillows, back against his brother, and drift again. He was almost asleep again when he felt Dean push up on an elbow behind him, lift the covers off his arm, and peer down at the cut.

"Dean," he said, and pulled out of Dean's arms enough to roll onto his back and glare at him again. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Checking your arm, asshole," he said, and cocked his head to look again. "Now hold still and let me look at it."

"It's all wrapped up," Sam said. He clasped a hand carefully over the worst part of the cut, trying to cover it without actually touching it. "And it's like eight hours old, at the oldest. It's not infected yet."

"You don't know that," Dean said. He ran one finger over Sam's arm down by his elbow, far enough away from the cut that it didn't hurt, exactly, but close enough that Sam jerked away from him on instinct.

"Pretty sure I do." He moved his hand up and down over his arm slowly, checking the temperature. "Not too hot, doesn't hurt more than it should, and you cleaned the hell out of it before you bandaged it." He turned the arm in question and swatted at Dean. "Now either lie back down and go to sleep or I'm getting into the other bed."

"Christ, you are bitchy when you're hurt," Dean said. He turned around behind him, fumbled on the bedside table for a moment, and then waggled a mostly-full water bottle in front of Sam. "Sit up and drink this first."

He pressed another pill into Sam's hand and Sam didn't even ask what it was before taking it, and then drinking most of the water as well. He pulled off with about a swig left and offered it to Dean, but Dean snorted and shook his head.

"All backwash once you get that low," he said. "Besides, you could use it."

Sam shook his head but drank it, and then gave the empty bottle back. Dean climbed out of bed, again, and ran the faucet for a while before carrying the bottle back to the table and getting under the covers.

"Stop moving around already," Sam said, and kicked lightly backwards at Dean. "I want to be asleep."

"Just give it a few minutes," Dean said. He didn't even kick Sam back, and if Dean hadn't been right, if Sam wasn't already falling asleep again, Sam would have worried about that. Dean never let things go without trying to get the last word, or jab, in himself, and Sam didn't know what to make of it.

.

They were moving on out of Missouri the next day, places to go, but Dean sat Sam down at the room's table with breakfast and packed up most of their stuff while Sam ate. He'd slipped off to get food sometime while Sam was still asleep, and had managed to both be back in bed before Sam woke up and have hot coffee and pastries waiting for him. Dean pressed another pill into his hand, the tablet neatly sawed in half, before Sam got out of bed, and Sam took the half-dose before settling down for his food.

His arm still hurt, yeah, and he wasn't looking forward to hours on the road with no distraction, but he was counting on being able to mostly stretch out in the back seat and try to doze his way through the morning. Dean tossed clothes for him into the empty chair across the table, a pair of jeans and a few shirts that Sam could layer like usual, and then kept gathering their weapons together. Sam sighed at the thought of getting dressed, but he couldn't stay in his boxers all day long, and it was too cold to go without a shirt.

"Nuh uh," Dean said, though, when Sam stood up and reached for the jeans. "Shower. I'm not sitting in the car for hours with you smelling like that."

Sam sniffed under his good arm — _ripe_ — and rolled his eyes at Dean before heading to the bathroom. "Wimp."

"And you know what, I'm okay with that."

"It's not even hot outside," Sam said, bending down to turn on the shower and try to figure out how to get warm water from it.

"Good thing, because I'd hate to be around you now if you actually were going to get worse than this." Dean just smiled at Sam when he looked over. Sam had only turned to roll his eyes at Dean, but then he did it again when he realized Dean was stripping out of his clothes, too.

"You do realize I can shower by myself, right?"

Dean shook his head. "Let's just take a moment to see how good your range of motion's doing then, huh?" He swung his arms back and forth and nodded to Sam, who raised his eyebrows at his brother without mirroring his actions. "You have Momo gunk dried into your hair, dude. It's getting out if I have to wash it myself, which I'm guessing I do."

"That's special coming from someone who spent most of last night with his nose in my hair," Sam muttered, but he kicked out of his boxers anyway and stepped into the shower. He hissed when the water hit his arm, even through the bandage, and turned to get it out of the spray. Dean followed him in a few moments later, while Sam was facing away from the shower head to rinse his hair, one-handed and ducking down. He knew that he probably looked ridiculous, with his eyes closed and the remnants of yesterday's hunt just now loosening from his skin as they got wet, but, although he couldn't see Dean's expression, he didn't laugh or snort or otherwise mock. He just started scrubbing at Sam's hip, where his shirt had ridden up yesterday as he slid through the mud, and he was even gentle about it. Sam opened his eyes after a moment and straightened up some, letting the water hit him between his shoulder blades, and watched Dean work the washrag over his side. Dean's nipples were peaked and, when Sam put a hand on his arm, he was dry and covered in goosebumps.

"Oh, damn, sorry," Sam said, and stepped a little to the side. "You should have told me you weren't getting any water."

"You should have had the good sense to realize you were taking it all up yourself," Dean said, but he steadied Sam with hands on his hips as he moved carefully around him, into the spray. He leaned to get his face in the water first, then turned to let it fall over his own back. "Turn back around." He nudged at Sam, and Sam turned so they were both facing the back of the tub. Dean finished washing Sam's hair and then scrubbed the rest of him down as well, starting at his back and then turning him again to wash his sides and his belly. Eventually, he switched their places again so Sam could rinse off.

The shower felt just as good as Sam thought it would the night before. He leaned his head back a little to rest on Dean's shoulder as the water beat down over his chest, and Dean gripped his hips slightly harder than he had been, and stepped up against him, pressing his dick against Sam's ass. Sam was too drugged up to get hard for it himself, or he would have been dealing with his cock jumping around the way it usually did when he and Dean showered together, but he reached behind him and grabbed onto one of Dean's thighs anyway, keeping them close together.

"You can, if you want," he said, and Dean groaned and leaned his forehead against Sam's shoulder.

"Yeah?" he asked, already starting to thrust against Sam's thigh, and Sam shrugged, jostling him some.

"Yeah. Why not, you know?"

"Because you're not —" He trailed off, fingers tightening, and Sam closed his eyes.

"You can make it up to me later," he said. He didn't think it would be smart to reach behind him with his other arm, but he put his hand over Dean's on his hip and squeezed.

It turned out that sex was not very interesting, if you weren't actually getting off, but the water kept pouring out nice and warm, and Sam didn't mind standing there and letting Dean use him. They'd each essentially done the same thing before, helping each other get off when they'd already come themselves, and it wasn't a big deal to go with it. Dean eventually shifted to thrust between Sam's legs instead of at the side of one, and Sam moved his feet closer together to tighten his thighs around Dean's cock. It left him slightly off balance and he had to let go of Dean's leg to steady himself against the wall of his shower, but Dean was already close at that point, and he pressed his face into the back of Sam's neck where it had been the night before, gasping as he came.

Sam spread his legs again and planted his feet as Dean slumped against him, breathing hard. The two of them stayed there a while longer while the hot water kept coming, but finally Dean shook himself slightly and pushed himself away from Sam's back.

"C'mon," he said. "We've gotta get going."

Sam turned around and rinsed his back off one more time while Dean stepped out of the shower. Dean was dressed by the time Sam turned off the water and followed him back into the room. He handed Sam his clothes an item at a time — socks, underwear, and jeans first — until he was dressed up to the waist, and then told Sam to sit down, pointing to the edge of the bed. Sam rolled his eyes when Dean pulled out a clean towel, still folded, and carefully patted down his arm. There was antibacterial Neosporin next, followed by a new bandage, and only then did Dean pass over Sam's shirts.

"We good to go now?" Sam asked, rolling his eyes. Dean just ignored him and kept packing up.

.

Sam didn't go back to sleep in the car, like he'd hoped, but he was able to lean against the passenger door, turned slightly towards Dean with his left leg hitched up on the seat. They'd stopped for more coffee on their way out of town. Sam had his cup in his good hand, letting it warm his fingers even through the cardboard heat sleeve, and Dean had held his until he drank enough of it to put the cup between his thighs without worrying that it would overflow or splash onto his crotch if the road got bumpy.

The next job wasn't too urgent — a spirit that was only active every two years, and they had three weeks until zero hour — and, for all that Dean had rushed them out of the room that morning, he was taking it pretty easy as they went down the road. He stuck within a few miles of the speed limit and they were going just quickly enough that the car hummed comfortably underneath them.

Sam finished his coffee and wedged the empty cup between the seat and the door. He was used to having at least a little bit of research to do on the way to a job they'd already planned on taking, but they'd pulled all the intel together on this one two years ago. Sam couldn't even remember what they'd run into that distracted them from it at the time, but it didn't matter much when they were getting it done now. He watched the road for a while, then wound up looking for something to do. He hadn't brought a book with him but when he looked in the back seat, he found a few magazines Dean had been reading.

Two were porn, the tacky stuff that seemed to make Dean laugh as much as it turned him on, another had a muscle car on the cover, and the fourth was an old copy of _Popular Science_. Sam flipped through it, letting the other three drop into the footwell, and the pages fell open to an article on wounds and infections. Sam glanced up at Dean, across the seat, before grinning a little and reading.

It didn't say anything their dad hadn't taught them, about how to keep wounds clean, but it went into more detail about _why_ than John ever had, complete with some cartoony drawings of exactly what grew in infected wounds. Sam rolled his eyes and turned to the table of contents to find something else to read, but he didn't complain the next time Dean insisted on pulling up his sleeve and checking his bandage.


End file.
